


Forever Wet (Lube Not Required)

by eeyore9990



Series: Ask Box Prompts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 42 is the answer to life the universe and everything, Come Swallowing, Come play, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, coincidence?, derek's magical dick, excessive precome, it's also fatal to wank 42 times in a row, stiles loves derek's magical dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time Stiles reaches for the front of Derek’s jeans, Derek does something to distract him (see: blow jobs, the giving thereof), and Stiles is left clutching at blankets and sweat slick, naked shoulders and Derek’s <em>hair</em> instead of… well.  Anything more fun.</p>
<p>Stiles just wants to get his <i>hands</i> on Derek's <i>dick</i>.  Is that too much to ask?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Wet (Lube Not Required)

**Author's Note:**

> Anon submitted: Thank God for anon. I have a kink to submit if you have the time to write it. I would like a Sterek fic with one of them leaking a lot of precome and he is a bit embarrassed maybe but it turns out his partner is fascinated and very much turned on. Thanks for listening. *scurries away*
> 
> I'm on a mission to clear out my inbox before December, so yeah. I'm just blasting through these. They aren't beta read.

They’ve been… dating, or something like it, for almost a month.  Stiles knows Derek’s into him.  He’s not exactly subtle.  And Stiles can’t really complain because he’s received more blow jobs in the past month than he can count.

(Okay, that’s a lie, it’s been 42, which is perfect, it’s fucking PERFECT.  Just ask Douglas Adams.)

But every time Stiles reaches for the front of Derek’s jeans, Derek does something to distract him (see: blow jobs, the giving thereof), and Stiles is left clutching at blankets and sweat slick, naked shoulders and Derek’s  _hair_ instead of… well.  Anything more fun.

Stiles isn’t a lazy lover — or, at least, he doesn’t  _want_ to be.  He wants to give Derek the same kind of mind-blowing pleasure that Derek gives him.  It’s just, by the time Derek finishes with  _him_ , Derek’s also a sated lump on top of Stiles, his jeans all soggy and gross at the crotch.  

At first Stiles was so over the moon about Derek’s reaction — _Stiles made him so hot, Derek came in his **pants** , holy_ _shit_ — that he didn’t worry about it.  That lasted all of two days.  Then, he started to worry that Derek was into some twisted, fucked up self-denial thing.

But Derek always comes too, his face buried in Stiles’ neck, sucking livid marks against Stiles’ collar bone as he stiffens against him, warmth spreading between them through the material of Derek’s jeans.  So… that can’t be it, right?  Right.

The more Stiles thinks about it, the more he comes to the conclusion that Derek has something in his pants that he’s worried about.  Either he’s tiny and is ashamed of it — and no, that’s not it because Stiles has felt Derek’s hard length against his hip and, uh, he’s not tiny.  He’s just not.  Or he’s deformed in some way.  

Stiles nearly goes blind the night he realizes that Derek might have a knot.  Because… while that should scare the shit of out Stiles, the very  _thought_ of being locked up tight on Derek’s knot makes him so hard so fast he literally goes dizzy with lust.  

So Stiles starts talking during sex.  Well, more than normal.  More… pointed statements.  About how he loves every part of Derek’s body.  And how he loves Derek’s more non-human characteristics.  How he loves being marked up and how hot it makes him to know the other wolves can smell Derek on him.

The only problem is, the talking just makes the problem worse.  Because Derek  _loses it,_ growling and biting, fingers digging into Stiles’ skin and leaving behind bruises that don’t fade for days.  And he, well.  He still doesn’t get his pants off.  

Stiles honestly doesn’t know how Derek can stand nutting off in his jeans like that all the time.  The sheer amount of laundry he must do every week makes Stiles boggle.

Tonight, though, Stiles is absolutely determined to get his hands on Derek’s naked cock.  He’s going to do it.  He  _is._

He just… uh.  Doesn’t exactly know how.  But hey!  He’s a pro at winging it.  He’s spent the last three years of his life staying alive by  _winging it._  He’s totally got this.

Hopefully.

They’ve just come back from the movies, during which Stiles had spent the entire time teasing Derek viciously from under the tub of popcorn, his fingers sliding up and down the inseam of Derek’s jeans, until Derek growled and flashed his hand out, grasping Stiles’ wrist and trapping his hand against the inside of Derek’s knee — his  _knee_ , for the love of perfect mountain ash circles — and then gave as good as he got.  

So by the time they stumble back to the loft, Stiles is hard enough to pound nails and Derek’s eyes are flashing blue every other second, looking like the world’s most awesome party favor.  Or strobe light.  Whatever.

When Derek knocks him back onto the couch, Stiles goes willingly, but when Derek sinks to his knees between Stiles’ splayed legs, mouthing at the front of his pants, Stiles pushes him back with a breathless, “No.”

Derek rears back, looking like he’s been  _slapped_ , and then scrambles further away on his hands and feet like a crab.  Like he’s done something  _wrong._

Stiles flails right off the couch, crawling after Derek and then  _onto_ him, making hushing sounds the whole time, pressing reassuring kisses to Derek’s face, and mumbling about how it’s fine, nothing’s wrong.  ”But,” he murmurs against the curve of Derek’s jaw, “I want…”

"What?"  Derek’s fingers wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him away so they can look at each other.

"I want to touch  _you_ , suck  _you._ I want… uh.  I want to ride you, just open myself up and slide right down on you and—”

“ _Jesus_ , Stiles,” Derek says, and now he’s lisping around pointy teeth, and holy shit, that should  _not work for Stiles._  But it does.  It really, really does.

He  _loves_ making Derek lose his tightly-held control.

"Please," he begs, hands sliding down, cupping Derek’s hard length through his jeans.  "Please, Derek, let me."

Derek flops down on the floor, throwing one arm over his face.  But he’s not stopping Stiles, so he quickly attacks the button fly on Derek’s jeans, and… huh.  Okay, so this isn’t as easy as he figured it would be.  Fuck these things are tight.  By the time he has all the buttons undone, his tongue is clenched between his teeth and his fingers feel raw.

Seriously.  Fort fucking Knox level of security there.

When he peels the jeans aside and reaches for the waistband of Derek’s underwear, Derek’s hand shoots down, wrapping around his wrist.  Stiles looks up, miffed at being stopped so short of his goal.

Derek is looking back, and there’s no sign of the wolf about him anymore.  No flashing blue eyes, no pointy teeth.  His face is all naked vulnerability.  He’s never looked more fragile, more  _human_ , than he does in this moment.  

Stiles smooths a hand up Derek’s side, trying for a reassuring smile, but probably just looking a little wild.  ”It’s okay,” he whispers.  ”It’s okay.”

"Just…"  Derek turns his head, shoulders hunching.

"Derek.  Look at me."  Reaching up with his free hand, he gently clasps Derek’s chin, forces him to make eye contact.  "There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can scare me away from you.  You’re stuck, do you understand?  You’re _mine._ "  And okay, that’s maybe a bit creepy, slightly stalkery sounding,  _extremely_ possessive, but it seems to work for Derek, who relaxes again, his fingers going loose around Stiles’ wrist.  His eyes are still a little pinched around the edges, but Stiles knows there’s nothing that’s going to get rid of that besides just pushing forward.

Swallowing roughly, Stiles looks back down.  The soft material of Derek’s underwear is damp at the front, like he’s already leaked a ton of precome.  Which… yeah, that’s.  Yeah.

When Stiles finally bares Derek’s entire dick, when he finally shoves the jeans and underwear down enough to see  _everything_ , including the heavy balls that hang so beautifully under Derek’s full, dark, uncut dick, it’s like every dream he ever had has come to life in beautiful technicolor glory.  His mouth is  _watering_ , and he hasn’t even gotten a taste yet.

As he lowers his head, irresistibly drawn to the glory that is Derek’s cock, he notices it.  There’s a thin stream of come just leaking unceasingly from the slit.  Beading up and dripping down the shaft, making it so  _wet_  that it gleams in the light.  

Stiles lets out a tiny moan, licks up the come that’s clinging to Derek’s shaft, and then pulls back to watch  _even more_ drip steadily down it.  ”God,” he breathes, feeling his entire body flush with an arousal so far beyond anything he’s ever felt, he honestly doesn’t know how he hasn’t already come.  ”Why haven’t—”

"Don’t—"  Derek says, twitching his hips half-away, but Stiles reaches for them, holding them still with a strength that makes Derek’s eyes go wide.

"Don’t you dare try to hide from me, you asshole.  I can’t believe I’ve wasted so many years not…"  He ducks down, licks up another tongue-full of come, whining as the flavor explodes once more across his palate.  "Derek," he breathes, tremors rolling through his body.  "Why were you hiding this from me?"

"It’s… weird."

"You’re a  _werewolf._  You lose your eyebrows when you shift.  That?  That’s weird.  This?  Holy fucking shit, man.  This is…”  Stiles slides the tip of his finger over the head of Derek’s cock.  A little sigh escapes him when he drags his finger slowly away and a thin line of come attaches him to Derek.  ”This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life and with the amount of porn I’ve watched… Well.”

"You think it’s  _hot_?”

Stiles doesn’t look away from Derek’s dick.  Doesn’t stop playing with it.  Just reaches blindly for Derek’s hand and presses it to his chest.  ”Use your nose, fucker.  Do I smell repulsed?  Is my heart stuttering?  Am I lying?”

"No."

"I wanted to suck you off.  I wanted to ride you all night."  Stiles feels the mourning that echoes in his voice.  He really does.   _But_.  ”But… I don’t know that I can stop yet.  I’m sorry,” he murmurs, ducking his head again.

Derek laughs, a high, slightly shaken sound.  ”No…  _ah_ … apologies necessary.”

“‘S your fault anyway,” Stiles mumbles, dragging his lower lip over Derek’s come-wet balls before laving them with his tongue.  ”Hiding all this from me.  So wet, so  _perfect._ Mine.”

Derek’s breath hitches at Stiles’ possessive growl and come spurts from his dick, dripping onto his stomach and pooling up.  Stiles breathes out a shaky sigh and runs his hands through the mess, getting them wet.  He paints his cheek and neck with Derek’s come, sucks the rest off his fingers, ducks down and drinks directly from the source.

He can’t get enough.  Can’t stop murmuring his appreciation.  Can’t stop licking and slurping, moaning with every new spurt of come that flashes hot and bitter over his tongue.

Doesn’t  _want_ to stop.  Never wants to stop.  Even when Derek is writhing beneath him, over sensitive and gasping for mercy, Stiles doesn’t want to stop.

It isn’t until Derek’s hands fist in  _his_ hair, until he’s being pulled, yanked, carried away from Derek’s dick that Stiles realizes the tables have been well and truly turned.  He buries his face in Derek’s neck, laughing hysterically when he registers the sensation of  _his_ jeans all soppy and wet at his groin. 

He came in his pants because of Derek’s magical dick.  He wants to bitch about that, because  _seriously_ , so gross, but Derek’s licking the dried come from his face and neck, and yeah.  

Yeah.  

Looks like he’s going to get a chance to ride Derek tonight after all.  He wonders, idly, if they’ll even need lube.  

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title for this fic: Rode Hard, Put Away Wet. Derek's Magical Fountain of Come. Derek's Dick is Magic. (That one rhymes.)


End file.
